The Samwise Within
by Mainecoon
Summary: The first installment of several poems formerly published under a different pen-name... this is a long poem concerning Sam and suicide. Have fun. :-P


The Samwise Within  
by Mainecoon  
(originally published as "The Choice of Samwise" under the pen name "Corbin F. Halloway")  
  
Spoiler Warning to fans who have not yet read the books: this poem concerns major events occurring in the end of the second book.   
  
Other warnings: Contains graphic Sam-angst, rhyming verse, and a moral.   
  
Elaboration for those who have chosen to read on: The exact passage is quoted in the work itself, but I shall clarify: This is a poem that was inspired by my recent notice of a certain part during the whole Shelob fiasco in which Sam considers committing suicide. Dispite having read the books four times previously, this essential detail had always escaped my notice. Once I stumbled upon it, though, it utterly consumed my mind until I could write something about it. It was a major revelation, a sudden beam of light into the deepest part of Sam's character I had ever seen, a missing puzzle piece.... I shall cease rambling now and get on with it. :-P  
  
Further Notes: This poem took a total of five days to write. The verses were not written in anything close to the order in which they appear here. I am aware of certain points of disagreement between my narrative and Tolkien's original text (the noose, among other things). However, such cannot be helped. Sometimes I write the poetry, and sometimes it writes itself. This poem wrote itself. I initially gave it a very dark theme. Suicide, after all, is very nearly as dark as you can get in poetry. I was thuroughly surprised when it spun around at the end and developed a purpose beyond my playing with imagery and rhyme schemes. I'm still debating with myself as to whether or not this monster of a poem is good or bad. I've been told by some that parts of it make no sense, or is phrased in too cryptic a way to understand...  
  
On notations within the poem: I have been alerted by my "beta-readers" that people are often confused by my switch from 3rd-person narration to 1st-person Sam's POV. For this reason, I have simply put astr... asteris.... those star thingees *around everything that Sam says,* as I have just demonstrated. The italics are Tolkien's words.   
  


  
~*#*~  


  
_ …It would not be worth while to leave his master for [revenge]. It would not bring him back. Nothing would. They had better both be dead together. And that too would be a lonely journey.  
He looked on the bright point of the sword. He thought of the places behind where there was a black brink and an empty fall into nothingness. There was no escape that way. That was to do nothing, not even to grieve. That was not what he had set out to do… _  
  
His body felt nothing; and yet, he was cold.  
Now in third person conscious of every sensation,  
He noticed the sound of tears falling on leather -   
His tears! - rolling over a soft, tattered fold  
After pattering just once their fervent elation.  
  
Where now is the Fellowship, Elessar, Elessar?  
Why do the Holbytlan wander afar?  
  
Perverse curiosity fluttered close by  
As his inner Observer took hold of one foul vine -   
A hideous growth once inside the great monster…  
How soft, and how easy it would be to tie  
In a noose - to play puppets, should he be inclined.  
  
*I shall dance in the air with a neck like a swan's!  
For a swan can bend every which-way, so I'm told.  
Bones and blood-flesh and spirit deep sleep will enfold…  
  
…oh, how I want to sleep!*  
  
Dim dreams of a puppet-show came to an end  
When the glint of a blade caught his fractured attention.  
How smoothly the metal tongue would slip inside him  
Far deeper than kisses, and harder to mend  
Should the wound leave him breathing through Life's intervention.  
  
Where now is the Fellowship, Hamfast's son, Hamfast's son?  
Why must a servant guess what's to be done?  
  
He reeled and he faltered, but mostly he wept.  
Bent with sobbing, he clutched at the corpse of his master.  
Black silence framed moments of heightened awareness:  
Oh, sharp was the pain as his hero-friend slept!  
Sharper still seemed the knife… and his breath became faster.  
  
*I'm so afraid, sir - both of glory and doom,  
So afraid of the world, dreading what lies beyond it,  
Afraid to keep living, afraid of your tomb…*  
  
Would stones quench their thirst on warm hobbit-blood wine?  
Or would Fate allow one chance for hope to hold on to?  
He kept the debate, his resolve like a candle,  
First flickering, then burning strong in his mind:  
This was his quest to finish, though he didn't want to.  
  
Where now is the Fellowship, Peregrin, Meriadoc,  
Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf?  
And Elessar, sword re-forged on elven welding-block,  
Was Middle-Earth doomed the day you set off?  
  
He knew he might never again feel whole:  
That was part of the burden he gained by becoming  
At last his own hero with no one to follow.  
He knew he was never meant for such a role -   
Even stouthearted warriors quailed from pain so numbing.  
  
*I won't drink the poison of Life's daunting terror!  
I shall not submit to the drug of despair!  
Mistakes, I've made many; but this fatal error  
I must prevent for the sake of times more fair.*  
  
_'Good-bye, master, my dear!' he murmured. 'Forgive your Sam. He'll come back to this spot when the job's done - if he manages it. And then he'll not leave you again. Rest you quiet till I come; and may no foul creature come anigh you! And if the Lady could hear me and give me one wish, I would wish to come back and find you again. Good-bye!' _  
  
And though he continued, his tears did not dry.  
He did not find new courage - his journey seemed longer.  
Far lonelier was it to follow the hard path:  
With chances like this, it was useless to try…  
Yet behind cloud-cast nights, there's a star burning stronger.  
  
He had no fine magic, no face of an elf,  
He wore no coat of mithril, could speak in no strange tongue.  
His name was Sam Gamgee, and he was a gardener.  
This was his transition from servant to Self:  
A transition each one of us makes when we're young.  
  
Where now is the Sam in you, sister-friend, brother-friend?  
Where is the light that shines on without end?  
  
We will all take a leap of faith straight into Hell.  
We will all lost the thing we love best.  
But you must not bow down with submissive farewell!  
Find your Samwise, then on with the quest.  
  
We are all on some quest, to destroy or to save,  
And we all will face Shelob someday.  
So if, when you're there, you consider the grave,  
Find your Samwise and follow his way:  
  
Life is better by far when you start by fulfilling  
First simpler needs. Here is how to begin:  
Choose the greater good - no secret there, just be willing  
To look past your want to the Samwise within.  
  
…end…  
  
  



End file.
